Killjoy
by Zelavril
Summary: AU: When policeman extraordinaire Cliff was asked to observe the movements of Fayts' criminal father, what kind of catastrophes commenced? Fayt x Cliff, possible yaoi and other pairings later on. Ch3 up!
1. Chapter 1 Partners in Crime

**Edit 1: I forgot to do a few things to this fanfiction before I posted it. Sorry everyone for the edit, and I hope this doesn't look too bad on my part.**

Anyway, this is my second fanfiction posted on FFnet. I hope it's not too bad. Zelly got herself a headache writing this one up at first, but I kind of like it now.

**Story/ Plot Theosis: **AU: When policeman extraordinaire Cliff was asked to observe the movements of Fayts' criminal father, what kind of catastrophes commenced?

**Disclaimer:** If Zelly owned Star Ocean 3, Zelly would be a very rich woman, would have made separate installments of the game for every fan of every pairing possible, and she would have created her own Fayt trademark plushies for everyone!

But, alas, Zelly does not own Star Ocean 3. Square-Enix does.

**Warnings: Drug references, implications of sexual abuse, possible OOC and future Yaoi (?)- Fayt x Cliff. **If you do not like these, and think that you cannot bear to read something of those topics, then please: leave this page.

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Lights. Blue sirens. A squeal of wheels. All someone would have to hear would be the click of his door and they would know Cliff was back on the job again.

Cliff inserted the keys into the engine, forcefully turning it so that the engine spluttered. It coughed a little, shook and hummed a familiar tune Cliff knew so well. _My partner in crime_, he grinned, tapping his fingers on the wheels' rim. _How long has it been?_

Cliff thought slowly how long it had been since he had actually been in the car; the day when his entire career had suddenly came to a standstill as he clumsily yet elegantly drove through a pair of red lights. It was so hard to drive. A year ago, and this car- a silver polished police car with sapphire blue headlights, of which he was very proud of- was a snatch to drive in, and real easy to catch criminals with. It was his job after all. All up his well-stitched coat and his elegant sleeves hung badges for bravery, badges for teamwork, and a badge, which he couldn't recall why he gained, but still kept it anyway. His hair was streaked a golden blond- much like the amber light he drove past for a second time- and he had a strong muscular build. His eyes were a steel blue and yet gleamed of innocence and mixed anger.

Suddenly, a car pulled out in front of him, and his anger exploded. "Bloody hell!" He swerved slightly to the right, and he mused, gaining control of the wheel again. He took a few deep breaths, and gained some control of himself. The city lights ahead of him gleamed of innocence, a mixture of fireflies lighting the city. The orange pavement refracted into his eyes, and the drunken cries of passers by on the streets followed the usual pattern of throwing bottles at the windscreen; yet he didn't panic. This, after all, was not what he was meant to be focusing on.

As the traffic lights glowed green, they reminded him of the small innocence he saw, years ago…

**3 years earlier…**

"So, how much are you going to pay me?"

Fayt had heard his father ask this so many times before.

"Well, how well is he?"

Fayt cringed, his eyes drooping to the floor in disgust. Reminded of his dirtiness and impurity, he lay on the ripped couch in the living room, the room stinking of the cocaine his father was smoking in the opposite room. The room was blood red, the windows were spotless and crystal clean; the marijuana plant to his left grew menacingly, threatening Fayt with it's well fed stem, its' green, untainted leaves laughing at his dainty and frail appearance. His throat was dry, his stomach was growling, he was bruised and very, very cold- his clothes are torn and grey, his thighs were a pale violet, his ears were rose and numb. He blinked.

"He performs well, or so say my other clients. Still, safety first, eh?"

Fayt heard the other man catch something, like a small bag. He immediately drew his head towards his knees, like the little three year old he was twelve years ago, hiding his beautiful eyes beneath that mat of cerulean hair. His eyes dropped a few tears.

"He's almost like a broad, isn't he? I mean, look at his waist. Straight little guys must look at his curves and dribble."

"Yeah, well. He gets that from _her_. She wanted a girl so much; she had one even if the end result was different." Fayt heard his dad scoff. "So, what you paying me for him?"

The tears streamed down his face a pace faster. His mother walked in the room elegantly, her high heels clinging as she walked past wearing diamond rings and pearl necklaces. She glared at her skinny son, smiled gently, and swaying her hips, she walked into the room where her husband sat, squat around a circle table. Fayt raised his head from his knees, and his mother routed in the fridge, pulling out some cheese and bread.

"That girl looks starved. How well you been feeding her?" She asked quietly.

"He's had his feed. What else does he want?" Fayt's father grumped. Fayt peeked past the rim of the couch, anxiously waiting to see if he would get a second beating tonight for his mothers' suggestion, or if he would be saved. The other man laughed a hearty laugh.

"I can feed him some food afterwards. Take him to Mac Donald's or something, get him some chips." Fayt breathed a sigh of relief, stroking his abused stomach gently. "Any scars or anything? I dig scars."

"Yeah. Top bit of his neck. Got caught in cross fire when he was a baby. Shot wound," His father stated simply, "but he's alright."

Fayt rubbed the top part of his neck beneath his shorts leg, touching the small pink scar that screamed a small pain. The five-year-old inside him urged the fifteen year old to get his father to tell the truth, but his bruises and past broken bones screamed no, and won. Instead, he scuffled a little to the left and wiped his tears from his face. He knew which lines would pop up next. Habitually, he grabbed an old comic from the side table, and although knocking over a few tablets of ecstasy, he quietly arranged himself into what his father called the "innocent whore" position; paper or something to read, legs crossed, head down and reading.

"Well, I'll pay you 100 dollars for him. And, if you don't mind… the deal?"

"The deal? His father questioned. "Oh… yes. Here it is, in the front room, follow me. But one thing… before you go play about upstairs with him, he's one fuck only." His father then walked into the room, leading a bumbling brown haired man behind him. Fayt thought the man was practically a lorry of fat, and to think that he would have to have him lying on him for the next hour made him feel sick. He had to pretend to cough when the man stood in front of him, observing him.

"Got a bad cough, honey?" The large man stood in front of him, seductively tickling his chin, as a master would do to a dog. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make you feel better…" He said playfully, leaning in to lick his ear. Fayt started to tremble, looking to his mother in a cry for help as she again, slowly walked into the room with a sandwich. And she gave him no help; more of a deal.

"Do as you're told." She whispered firmly. "You might have something for supper tonight if you're good …" She twirled the plate in her hand, the cheese in the sandwich teasing him beyond beggars' relief.

His father picked up the stash from a drawer and threw it to the other man. "Don't tell anybody I'm giving you this. An' I mean, nobody." His head turned to face his son. "Well, what are you doing, just sitting there? Don't be so rude and show him your bedroom."

"C'mon; I wanna see." The older man moaned, tickling his leg. Fayt averted his eyes in disgust, but caught the vicious glower of his father.

"Now." His father growled through gritted teeth. His anger flared in eyes, signaling a beating would result if he didn't reply.

Fayt nodded shyly with a quiet "Yes sir," reply, and rose to his feet shakily. His wrist was firmly grabbed, and he was tugged along the room towards the stairs. As usual, he followed, his feet near skipping at the fear that if he let himself be dragged, something bad might happen later. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, the man slipped his hand inside of his shorts.

"Let's see your dolls." He purred, leading him slowly up the stairs…

Meanwhile…

"Number 324, state your position."

"Kingsworth Avenue, outside the targets' house. "

"Affirmative."

Cliff spoke gently into the microphone, being wary not to be too loud. The pine air freshener above his passenger mirror wafted a wave of fresh air into the car, the sweet scent making Cliffs' eyes water. The old burger packets still stunk of the year old cheese and the coke still smelt sugar sweet. Cliffs' mother always used to wonder why he wasn't fat and had a perfectly clear face despite his junkie lifestyle. "Erm… could I have some information on said target, or targets? I didn't quite get what I was told to do before. Over."

The microphone was silent for a few moments, and it then began to crackle gently. A different voice echoed though. "Alright, Fittir?"

"It's me Chief. Explain the situation again?"

"Well, it's a good thing you asked really because we've got a bit of a tangle in the past hour. Right, we know this. Leingod is a major drug supplier from the Mafia. Does all sorts of dirty work; whether it is earning his money selling off whores or him creating new biological weapons. We've found that in his research. Either way, we have evidence that there may be an uproar tonight, and we need someone on the case- he's seemingly invited a man with the nickname of Albel into his home."

"Albel? **** Sounds like a rich guy." Cliff laughed at his own joke.

"No kidding. Guy owns his own bank, and has his own set of hit men. He dips a bit into the drugs as well."

Lights flickered on and off on the top floor of the Leingod house. Something glided past one of the windows. He thought he saw someone banging on the window at first, but Cliff put it down to his imagination.

The voice trailed on. "Either way, these are the reports. Leingod's wife, Ryoko Leingod, last entered the house at 18:34 pm, carrying an abnormal amount of packaging, and what looked like a gun; small Magnum, our sources tell us. And from past studies, she's' been known to pick up the drug supplies, and can be a trouble maker, so be careful."

The wind howled brutally against the car screen window, bending small chips of paint slightly.

Cliff smiled playfully, "Sounds like my kind of woman!"

"You're not here on a dating mission, Fittir!" The voice growled sternly. "You're here to get rid of Robert Leingod, Albel, and anyone else who might stand in your way…"

Cliff blocked out his droning, and instead became preoccupied with tapping his feet to a cool rhythm. _Dun da dun dana dun da!_ He grinned, playing the tune in his head as he crashed an imaginary drum kit to a frenzied beat. He laughed as he then grabbed a blue electric guitar, and blared it in the tune of the Chiefs' droning.

Suddenly, the instruments were yanked back into his brain, as Cliff became distracted, and his eyes reverted to a figure at the window. Sure, his door was locked, but his Klausian sharp hearing detected something; a teenage boy was pounding against the windows, his expression riddled with fear. And his face… his face was cut. Bleeding. _Maybe it was just an accident. Hope the kids okay,_ Cliff thought innocently, and was about to return to waiting for orders when Cliff heard something that made his conscience snap.

Gunshots.

And screams.

The boy looked as though he was going to break the window with his fists, but then someone grabbed him from behind, lifting him backwards, his eyes jerking with fear. The person behind him was smiling like a manic and...

A knife. Neck bound. Knife.

He was going to kill him!

Cliff's Hero mode suddenly flickered on and he flung his car door open, racing along the emerald green grass, trampling over the carefully planted petunias. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man dragging the kid away from the window, and he dropped something that looked like...

_No..._

The frame up the window suddenly lit up, the wood being surrounded by possessive, dancing flames. The smoke filled up behind the window, and everything was dull and grey. Even the once crystal clean windows had become jet from the smoke. Cliff, his heart pounding rapidly, drew his pistol from his holster and rammed into the front door, knocking it down completely. Smoke reached his nose easily.

Hearing the floor panel above him creaking, Cliff's first instinct was to race up the stairs, but instead we waited. Sobbing, coughing; noise. Someone was alive. Cliff paced himself up the stair, catching what could be the last clean bit of breath he would ever live off again. He suddenly heard the sobbing stop and heard feet scampering away from him, desperately.

"Damn!" Cliff cursed, standing in the hallway, confused at what to do now. If he had came running a little earlier, he might have been able to stop this… to stop that guy from setting the place alight. Maybe… and maybe not. Cliff hurried up to the top hallway, quickly scanning for survivors. In the grand room, there was nothing but the sight of the blood and the smell of the cocaine; Ryoko laid there in her red dress, peaceful, burnt, and dead; for a bullet had ripped through her skull. Her money and diamond rings were all melted and grafted into the ground. Coughing, Cliff tried to search another room, which was too lit in flames to find anything. He knew what he was looking for, or rather, who. Where was he?

The final room to his right remained untouched by flames, but tainted in blood. It was small, dark and wet; there was a small pool of blood on the ground next to a tiny mattress, which glittered like rubies and garnets in a basket. The window was weak and misted, and the bed sheets were orange and crumpled. Small toys and posters were either broken, had been trampled on, or ripped apart to tiny pieces. The room cried with virtue visually, but then came the smell. The room…it smelled purely of sex and Cliff felt like he was going to retch at the smell.

The flames were beginning to catch his tail. Behind him, there was a ceremony of dancing flames. Cliff glared at them suspiciously; they looked like the starved children he had seen on the News in Africa, their skeletal bodies shining in a deathly epiphany of heat and sand. This time, the orange was the sun, the gold was the sand of the beaches and the flicker of crimson was representative of the blood, the gore and death. Cliff shook his head and carried on searching.

He searched the cupboard to the left, curious to see if anyone was hiding there. No luck. Cliff then went to search the hallway, but little luck there. As he gave up and decided to leave, Cliff saw something by the front door of the house. A shadow, creeping through past the door. It was slow, wounded and coughing weakly, limping its way out of the door. Cliff stepped forward slightly, not wanting the others' attention, but the figurine rapidly turned around, his eyes wide with fear, and dashed away from the door.

"Hey!" Cliff shouted. "Stop!" He raced down the stairs and leapt through the doorway again, his eyes searching the front porch analytically. After all, it could have been Albel or Leingod who sneaked past the door just then, and what was worse, he could be armed. Cliff held his gun up defensively, searching the porch for anything unusual. And something unusual he did find. A weird looking plant in the bush caught his eye, its beautiful navy leaves glistening from the light above them.

_Wait a minute…_Cliff thought cleverly, walking up to the bush silently. He observed it carefully; what sort of plant had blue leaves anyway? _That looks more like… hair…_

Tightening his grip on the gun, he pulled it slowly outwards in time with his right hand, reaching out to grab the "plant". He was right. It was hair. It was brilliantly soft, but nonetheless hair. He gathered his courage and yanked it out, the person being dragged out of the bush with a cry; Cliff twisted his gun, and then thought about aiming it in the persons face, but…

The eyes…

The boy immediately covered his face with his bare arms, his teeth chattering, half-naked, bruised, cold and slashed across the face. He quivered in fear. "No!" he screamed. "No! Get off me!"

"Hey…" Cliff spoke gently.

"Get off me… Get off me!" he cried, trying to wriggle himself out of Cliff's grasp. Cliff looked at the boy pitifully, keeping hold of his wrist tenderly. His bruises looked terrible, and his burns on his shoulders were as red as ripe cherries. There was a needle in his left arm; apparently from a struggle with the other man before. Speaking of which, where was he? The boy began to pinch and kick against his shins, his eyes a sordid mixture of petrification and animal-like antagonism. He flailed his arms around, desperate for him to let him go.

"Hey!" Cliff shouted, restraining his arms back. "I'm here to help you." Cliff didn't realize that he still had his gun out, and finger by the trigger.

"Don't kill me," the boy whispered hoarsely, begging. "Please don't kill me. Please."

Cliff became confused. "Why would I want to kill you?" It was then he noticed the gun, and put it away. "That why you thought that?"

The boy slowly nodded and stopped his struggling. His breathing was deep and rapid, and his hands were shaking like dead leaves on a tree, the blood on his face streamed down his face and mixed with salty tears. "But you'll want me dead…" He muttered slowly. "You're doing this to fool me. You'll get me up on my knees; get me to trust you so that I walk ahead of you. Then you'll shoot me."

"What do you think I am? The Mafia?" Cliff joked, combing the younger one's hair slowly, in a near fatherly manner. But then he felt the other one tense, and saw his eyes avert away in shame. "You're kind of jumpy, aren't you?" Cliff stated, stopping his hand and eying the boy, concerned about the slash on his face. "Don't worry. I've got a hunch that nothing bad's going to happen to ya."

The other boy stopped shaking and raised his eyebrow. "A hunch?"

Cliff smiled. "Yeah, a hunch. Anyway, stop worrying yourself into a pickle here. I'm not from the Mafia, I'm from the Police. Look," he showed him the badge. "Cliff Fittir, policeman extraordinaire." He then, like every person he'd ever met, began to show off his badges. For a moment, the boy looked uncertain, but then as he began to touch and feel them, he looked curious and intrigued. But then, the moment was destroyed, for the boy suddenly jerked back, holding arm painfully, his hand painted with his blood, and moaned. Cliff grabbed his waist, and gently tugged him forwards. A stab wound.

"We need to get you cleaned up." Cliff said, stating the obvious. "You're bleeding pretty badly. And I don't know my first aid that well. So, I'm going to take you to the hospital. And your burns are pretty bad, as well." Cliff suddenly realized how cold it was and whipped off his coat, wrapping around the younger one. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Are you after Albel?"

"Yeah. Are you Albel?"

The boy looked shy for a moment, and then shook his head. "No. I'm not Albel."

Cliff frowned, a little confused. "Then who are you?"

The boy put his arms up defensively again. "Promise not to hurt me?"

Cliff folded his arms. "You're giving me reason to think that I should hurt you! But I won't. Promise, kid." The goofy smile somewhat put the other off guard, and made him laugh for some reason. Cliff was someone he would trust. "Anyway, up we get. I'm taking you to town, get yourself sorted out." He picked up the other boy, placing his arms over his shoulder, supporting him as he walked.

The younger boy smiled wearily, tired and weak from his wounds. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath, but his head began to hurt. Maybe he needed rest; he needed rest, yes, but it could have been because he needed food. Yes. He hadn't had food in days.

"I would die for something to eat!" He suddenly joked, limping along.

"You sure look it." Cliff stated. "Any thinner and you'd be anorexic!"

Shuffling along, they reached the car. It was dry, and felt warm to their fingertips- to the boy, he'd never felt what a car was like since he was two, so he lengthened the touch. He smiled suddenly, and spoke. "I'm Fayt."

He opened the passengers' seat door, shuffled about and put on his seatbelt. Fayt then opened and closed the window, playfully. It was almost as though he was a little kid.

Cliff smirked. "Pretty cool name. And hey, don't scratch my windows!" He said, as he entered the car with the slam of the door, then the twist of the key, then the roar of the mighty engine.

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**Zels' Notes: **

**Boy, did this idea eat my brain for a few months! Well, after uploads of English coursework, this is what I came up with (God, my brain must have been blocked up, huh?) Actually, this very nearly didn't become fan fiction, and very nearly became "the English coursework". Figures, eh? I was really desperate with it as well! Like, checking each paragraph to make it had stuff in like lexical fields, metaphors, sibilance, irony… all that palaver and more (And yes, "palaver" is a word!) -- Anyway, with all that effort put into it, my teachers then, at the very last minute, decided I should do something else. In my mind I was swearing at them :o**

**This fanfiction is probably going to be Fayt x Cliff one. Just a word of warning. I'm not deterring from that fact, hehe, although if there are any other couples you wish for me to attempt; you're my audience (although please_, please, for the love of god, don't make me write AlbelxFayt._ That would be the real challenge, indeed, but the couple gives me a headache, there's just _that _much of it -- ) **

**_Just a note to consider: did anyone notice how that man didn't sound like Albel at all?_ Very good. I'll give cookies to the person who can guess who the character is. A clue is that he is what I describe ;) (Everyone else: Zel, you're bad at giving clues!)**

**() "Albel" : The name sounds pretty exotic and rich to me. A lot richer sounding than the names we have near where I live, anyway. Everyones called "Katie" or "Ryan" --. So, my own pathetic joke there.**

**I'm not sure my characterisation skills are up to scratch on this one, and I'm not the best person at English grammar in the world, so if you see anything that is wrong, or looks wrong, feel free to point it out and explain it to me; I won't bite, so... yeah! Reviews are nice! XD**

_Later!_

_Zel xxx_


	2. Chapter 2: Veritable Utopia

**Disclaimers:** I wish I was creative enough to own Fayt Leingod, Cliff Fittir, Nel Zelpher and all of the other Star Ocean characters in this fanfiction, or even Star Ocean itself ('cause then I wouldn't be so poor!) . But I don't, so! –pulls unhappy tongue- I don't own Jet either, which is upsetting…however, I do own Demos © So you can't steal him :P

**Pairing: **Gradually, this is going to be a Cliff x Fayt… but how to make Fayt older? Urgh…

**Warnings:** Sexual implications, Yaoi implications (if you squint your eyes and read backwards), animal brutality (ish?), hyperactive antics, burnt rodents…can't say more, 'cause it'll ruin it for ya!

**Plot Theosis:** A day after the incident at the Leingod house, an investigation goes underway as to who or what caused the incident…Fayt is recovering in hospital, and outside that hospital lies what could either be friends or foes for our dear Fayt…

**Shoutouts!: **4quintessence: I love it when you review :P I was tempted to include Mirage and Albel in Chapter 1, but then I though "nah…everyone thinks that!" And LOL at Adray… nah, it's not him either (judged from the "fat"-I nearly wrote "Fayt", then!- description, I just couldn't.) I was so frightened about using that line, though; I liked it when I wrote it, but then I raised some ethical questions about it…Fanfiction now censors reviews! Poo, though it is good in one way :P It'll definitely be a Cliff x Fayt, just getting there is the problem for me ;) But any requests for other pairings, then I'll try my best to do them!

Ikary: Thanks so much for your alert :D You made my day with that -nods-

Either way…enjoy!

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**Chapter 2: Veritable Utopia**

Sunlight crept up and pounced onto the antiseptic stained window, glided along the ice white sheets, and then bounced back into his eyelids. Fayt's of course; nobody else was sleeping with him. It made a change.

Fayt began to stir, his head throbbing, his arms stinging, his eyesight blurring as though something had been caught in his eyes. He focused on the scene around him. Women in uniforms skating along corridors, panes of greasy glass, the ringing stench of bleach humoring his nose, the skitty squeals of un-oiled wheels; all these sights and sounds made his head ache and wander. _Where was he?_ It was an unusual place, sure. The lights from the windows only touched the lucky ones, the blessed ones as its angelic touch remained listless and lethargic as to only cover a few meters of area. The quirks of the nearby machinery buzzed and pounded around him like the beating of his own heart, and at the base of his left wrist stemmed those _snake-like wires_, those _fearful and venomous_ pale tubes that coiled around up his arm, dripping and pouring some sort of liquid into him as a thin needle sat and plunged into the tip of his veins, as if pumping an elixir of life into his body.

He felt more energetic than other days, strangely. He felt his body could do anything, despite the pain he was under. His stomach felt fuller; his hair was tamer; even the scar on his leg didn't seem to scream like it once did.

_Why?_

"Excuse me." a polite, shrill voice echoed through the room, the door in front of him creaking open slowly, as if the very gates of heaven unbolted- if only to give way and crumble before his feet. Or, at least, they had crumbled when Fayt had heard _her_ voice. A surprisingly pretty woman, with deep burgundy eyes and wild flower hair tiptoed in, her necklace bobbing slowly from her chest, vermillion tattoos scribbled haphazardly on her on her arms and wrists in some sort of archaic language. She carried in the clean sheets with her arms towards the nearby desk, and suddenly, she picked up his card, eyeing it studiously.

"Ahh!" She muttered brightly. "Fayt _Leingooood_, right?"

Fayt nodded slowly. "_Leingod_, yeah…"

The woman smiled gently, plopping the board on his bedside. She then wriggled herself closer, and closer towards him, her eyes preying up and down onto his body. Fayt's jade eyes gained a mist of fear, and the edges of his fingers began to tingle strangely; he'd seen that sort of look before. _No… not again! Not again!_ His mind prayed franticly, his neck and voice bound and fixed to a single place. Whatever frost had thawed about his feelings and emotion the night before had obviously once again frozen and incapacited his body completely once again, his searing hot blood flushing on his cheeks. He lay there stiff, body not twitching, his deep blue locks electric to the stand. He dared to flutter his eyes; soon, however, the mood changed, and the woman giggled wildly.

"Still got it!" She laughed hyperly. Fayt sworn that his ears must have undergone some sort of beating. "That happens whenever I have a male patient here in this place." She breathed. "You waltz in the room, doing your duties, and-hey, what, sit by them and they get _scaaaared_, almost- _friiiightened_ of you!" Fayt tried to imagine this woman this woman speaking on one of those _televisions_ things, and he grimaced at the thought.

"Anyway", she started again, "you look as though you've been in the _waaaars!_ Cuts and bruises- and that stab wound there as well, now that I think about it. Then again, it's not _uncoommoon_ for clever and handsome boys like you to get involved in something like that sort of stuff." She breathed a deep sigh. "Ah well. Sad, but true. Must be some sort of new trend. Hmm. It must be."

Silence slowly crept in the room as suddenly, for no apparent reason, the woman stopped talking, and just stared at Fayt again. Uncomfortable, and not really knowing what to say (and, with his newly gained headache for the constant noise from her mouth), he sat quietly, thinking, and counting with his fingers. A few seconds passed, and he sat gingerly, eyes focused upon her.

"I think…" he murmured, "I think you just spoked one hundred words."

"Spoked?" The woman laughed, raising her eyebrows. "Don't you know grammar, Mr. _Leingooood_?"

"_Leingod_." Fayt spoke firmly, a small tint of fury burning beneath his heavy lashes. "And what do you mean?"

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"**So, there I was!** Sitting in the car with him, his messing around with his hair, eating burgers and _pretending to play the guitar_- he calls himself a cop!- when suddenly- _whoosh!" _The broad chested, grey haired man flew his hands in the air wildly imitating a fire, his lips puckering in over exaggeration. "The whole… er… _building_- flat, yeah! – was _engulfed_ in flames!"

Cliff walked past as he was looking for his paperwork, and saw a very common scene that happened at least once a week; Adray storytelling to all the younger policemen and women, about how he "saved the day", as always. It was an easy event to spot. Adray sitting down on Clair's paper mapped desk, knocking off all her important notices onto the dusky floor, which ultimately, would never be found again by her. A varied set of colors, sounds and smells erupted from the spectators- some wore just the uniform, while Peppita seemed to settle for her spectrum painted coat; Roger interrupted constantly; and Lieber…just hadn't washed for days from "stress". You'd think that most people on the force would be used to liars, but nevertheless _everyone_ listened.

"Yes, Young Roger, it was just _like that_. Anyhow I dived my way through the door and ran around, gun-totting, pistols at drawn; you get the picture. I shot the bitch lady in the back…yeah, Roger, _like that_…I really don't know why that daughter of mine asked the chief to send _him_ with _me."_ Adray growled. Cliff hid himself behind the door, sniggering at the fact that an old man like him could tell such ridiculous lies; it didn't take a genius to guess that half of his claims weren't even _true_. Cliff lay solemnly against the wall, its height casting a shadow over his face, ears forever listening as bleep and blip and buzz from each and every faxing machine fingers forever drumming as he_ still _wished he was somewhere else and playing those drums.

"And," Adray continued, "Then when I went upstairs and saw that poor little boy- you know, the…erm…" Cliff bit his lips, preparing to snigger if he got Fayt's appearance wrong. "That punk boy! The one with the long green hair!"

Cliff couldn't help it. He nearly killed himself with those waves of hysterics that burst from his lips.

Adray looked bowled over, his look vaguely capturing that of if he had suddenly tripped over his own feet. "Who's laughing at me?!"

Cliff controlled himself, turning around the corner and looking Adray straight in the eye. "_Ah_, there you are." He chuckled quietly to himself, striding forward calmly, his fluffy blond hair climbing his ears. "I thought I lost ya when you never came on that mission, _Great and Wonderful Mr. Lasbard. _Might never have found ya if it weren't for all those big boasts there."

Adray knocked over yet another stack of Clair's paperwork, looking sheepish as the glares of Lieber and Peppita pierced straight through him. Roger just seemed too out of it to care; he had found a lollipop in Adrays' back pocket and sat there, sucking it like a baby.

Lieber straightened his coat. "I'm going to get that… er…paperwork done..."

"Me too!" Peppita chimed, twirling on the spot. Cliff wondered for a moment whether it had really been her dream to be policewoman, or a circus performer of some sort. She and Lieber shifted away from the space in between Adray and Cliff, almost scattering completely from sight.

"So," Cliff started, rolling his tongue in his mouth, his eyebrows raised, and "a punk with long, green hair... just a suggestion, but you should check what you're saying's right, yeah?"

The computer behind Adray buzzed alive, and Adray leaped onto his feet, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets from fear. Roger choked on his lollipop.

"W-w-what?! Are we under attack?! Oh… it's just the computer screen!" Roger boomed, trying to regain his manly demeanor and trying to cover his innate fear of technology. His rodent tail bolted sky high, and the tips of his fur stood straight, electrified to the stand.

As Roger waddled away, Cliff turned to Adray, smirking as Adray looked around, puzzled, trying to figure out just what that sound was. Nonetheless, Cliff wasn't fooled. "Listen, if you can't your details right, then what kinda cop are ya?" He brushed the dirt from his pants, each bit hovering sweetly into the air.

"So I got a few things wrong about _Fay_ when I was talking. So what? It's not as if the pup is important or anything!"

"_Fayt,_ Adray. He's not a girl. Besides, he didn't have green hair. Nor was it long, for that matter." Cliff paused, his ingenious brain forever plotting, his heart suddenly slowing down its' pace to a steady drum. His mind wandered to Fayt for a minute, remembering his feeling of sheer pride as he picked the skeleton of a boy up and carried him in to the car, his hair smelling vibrant, despite his years of abuse. He remembered those droplets of emerald looking up to him, almost as childishly as his always did, shimmering up at him admirably…

Cliff clicked back into the world after a few seconds. His bright ocean eyes were all of a sudden curious, playful, full of natural behavior and childish creativity, as Adray's violet eyes quaked a vicious bout of storm, thunder creeping through the surface as his gaze (unsuccessfully) tried to defeat and control the force of the sea.

The storm subdued.

"Fine, fine…" Adray gasped, trying to walk away. "So I got his name wrong, too." His eyes twitched as the light cowed away, the atoms breaking away silently, witlessly giving way to the darkness as each bulb above their heads fluttered silently. Adray turned uncomfortably, searching for a distraction to lead himself astray from Cliff's righteous gawk.

And the distraction came.

"Please, don't cause yourself any trouble. Just come with us."

"Who do ya think ya kiddin', punk?!"

"Clair, what are you doing? Don't go giving _him_ choices."

"Nel!"

Nel and Clair struggled to drag in a small, white haired boy into the station as he wriggled, writhed and even tried to jump out of their grasps. Adray and Cliff both looked onwards, curiously, as cherry hair almost mashed in with sweet vanilla strands, and as Clair's long, smooth arms wrestled with the strength of the boys' stoat ones. Adray smirked to himself, and took his baton from his waist, while Cliff slowly slipped on his knuckledusters, anticipating a fight...

---

_-Is… is she gone?-_

Fayt blinked slowly, and looked around.

_-She's gone… thank god for that...-_

Kicking the clean sheets off his body, Fayt caught a glimpse of the bruised sky through the corner of his eye. The stitches in his shoulder were stinging wildly, as if his skin was cracked earth collapsing in on itself. His thick blue locks were strung over his tiny emerald eyes. The windows in front of him revealed a one way image, almost like Fayt was glaring through the dark matter of a mirror, his identity obscured to those who glared through the other side. The roads, the streetlamps, the cars, the _people_. All ants through the microscopic glass; but a forever unwinding pattern of lives being changed, influenced and lived by that sun outside there, that sun that smiled dauntingly upon Fayts' fragile frame as he sat on that trolley, body buried by the despondency and tainted walls of a sanatorium.

Fayt wondered for a brief moment, what would it be like to feel the sun on skin? What was the sun? Why was it there? It was beautiful enough, that was for sure. Each and every shimmer of glimmer and sparkle possible on Earth seemed to radiate from that great, golden heart in the sky, and Fayt found that, if he squinted his eyes slightly, he could make out a tiny beat. The liquid life smiled on the petunias below the window, and with a sleepy yawn, Fayt stretched and walked his way out of the room

The shuddering of the wheels pumped louder into his ears, echoing like those waves you hear crashing inside every seashell. Fayt heard groaning- people in pain- and the quiet bleeping of machines. The cold flush of the marble flooring sent a rush up his spine, and the warmth of the building sent a flush to his face. He walked on ahead, weaving through doctors and nurses as he went, their faces consorted, twisted and molded almost indefinitely into an awkward shape.

Fayt shut his eyes for a moment as he walked through the corridor, trying to relax. But his hands stretched out in front of him like a small child, like a _little kid_ who'd lost his mother in a supermarket. He was searching for something. But what?

_**-"…someone …to lock him up…"-**_

Fayt's eyes suddenly rolled open as he had heard someone, those little ethereal windows spying everywhere and looking at everyone, searching for answers. A suave, dark skinned woman looked at him pitifully to his left, and as a brisk, curly haired man tried to shove through people in front of him, he caught Fayt's gentle gaze and frowned.

_**-"What's he---? …punk better …hi-"-**_

There it was again, but a different voice! But nobody was speaking, no lips were quaking. Nobody walked with one and other; nobody seemed to know anybody but themselves. So who had been-?

_**-"Someone get that…in his…I don't know---"-**_

Fayt shook his head wildly, his hands over his ears, mind pounding with difficult questions. Someone- or something- was talking to him! But what was it? His thin legs knocked against each other as he shook silently in the middle of a swarming stampede of rushing doctors, nurses and other people running around-family members. Questions…questions of the deep followed each suit in the building, inquiring the health of loved ones, relatives, or that bloke round the corner. Everything and everyone was blind until they saw Fayt, if only to frown upon his mousey, childlike state.

A moment flew by and then another man suddenly peered into his face, looking at him threateningly. His lips never moved, and Fayt was trapped inside his cold, meaningless stare.

_**-"Fuck off, get out the fucking way, shrimp,"-**_ The voice glowered, -_**"The hell's he looking at?"-**_

Fayt's eyes never moved from his gaze. "I'm not a shrimp." He murmured stubbornly, childishly.

The man looked confused for a moment, and then laughed harshly. Fayt glowed at the man, his beryl-green eyes silently igniting with an enchanting pyre, his entire body setting to stone as he glared into his deceiving ruby red eyes. The little sun peered shyly through a distant window and flew onto Fayt's calm face as Fayt was pushed onto the ground.

"Oww!" Fayt's cried as his eyes suddenly twitched back open, his head muttering a quiet pain. His eyes yet again meeting with those bloody vermillion pools, those searing fires that petrified and engulfed Fayt's deep acres of forest green.

"–_**Funny. I don't remember calling him a f'ing shrimp!-"**_

The voice seemed to breathe its' way through the man's nose, seemed to erupt through like those green streams that followed down to his lip

"Who said you were a shrimp, mate?" The man snapped, spraying spit over Fayt like a fountain. Fayt frowned, trying to shake it out of his hair. His mouth suddenly stopped flapping and his face crunched into a cat-like sneer. "You're like a crab, you! An itty bitty crab who thinks he's got his pincers."

"Huh?" Fayt grunted pathetically. "Then who—"

But before Fayt could ask the question, the man had stridden away from his sight.

---

_Outside the hospital…_

"So, he's in there then."

"Yeah, 'e is."

A fly entered through the through of the crescent shaped car window, buzzing around haphazardly in the jet black cove, blindly diving and falling in front of a cold, ferocious man. His teeth were stiff, misplaced, and colored on a soft wood tone. The hum of its wings that sounded like an airliner to the smallest insect was suddenly diminished as he swatted it with his two crooked, veined hands.

"Got you," he grinned evilly. Even the driver looked distressed.

Another man, his face covered by a strange mask, breathed out slowly. A long haired brunette sat quietly next to him, sighing happily as her foot was encrusted with strap after strap of leather, almost like her feet were being chained down to the sole. Her bright long legs glowed white, and her nuclear dress seemed to take away the limited sunshine that simmered through the dark windows, as though the existence of it was one thing that could take everything known to someone away- all with a simple twist of that waist. She suddenly looked up, eyes falcate a dark, chestnut brown, a little smile twisting as she saw a beautiful, atypical flash of blue corner through her eyes…

"Ryoko always said he-"she", she called him- a strange one…" She commented dryly. She then looked at the yellow-toothed man - who was scrawling across the window with the dead fly- and growled. "What do you think you're doing, Vox? You're ruining the windows with that stupid creature..."

The yellow-toothed man heaved a sigh, wiping his fingers on the window. The remains of the fly smeared against the window, grey ooze tainting it.

"Hmm? What am I doing? I'm doing what we all do best. If something dies, then so be it." He breathed softly, his eyes noxious and impassive. "You've grown much too soft in your old age, Mrs. Esteed."

"Oh, remember, we're all friends here," she smiled deviously, wriggling her fingers. "All friends linked with the same chains, spider webs and desires; so the name "Mrs. Esteed" really isn't necessary…my name is Kyoko, remember?"

The masked man suddenly snorted loudly, his thin lines of platinum hair dripping and losing their grip slowly, away from the mask.

Kyoko turned, and whipped out a knife to his neck. "Got something to say, Demos?"

He shook his head, continuing to giggle. "Now I see why Sophia walks a different path to you."

Kyoko glared. "Speak nothing of my wretched daughter, and you'll do well as to live longer than you actually should…"

---

The walk to the interview rooms were always the bravest steps. They were also the most trodden, and most resisted against; for _nobody_ really wanted to walk through those doors.

Guilty or innocent, the impression on everyone was always the same; a set of adjacent lines emitting an aura of nothingness, with gritty pebbles of walls as clean as a waste disposer and visible light that could easily have been mistaken for darkness and deep void. Space seemed non-existent. The air, the oxygen seemed to be a traffic jam, a competitive race and morning rush hour all at the same time; so much that as much as a tiny breath of the air in _that_ corridor, on the way to _that _door, could send the sane insane from the pressure. Even though he had walked through this corridor quite a few times, even Cliff wasn't immune to this pressure.

Muscling the struggling boy inside, with Nel and Clair lifting his feet to stop him from kicking the Klausian, Cliff pushed through those acrimonious, brittle blue doors, smiling happily to himself as he plopped the younger one on to a seat, and handcuffed him tight onto it. Wriggling, the boy found himself familiar with the very same sounds repeating themselves over and over again;_ rattle_ after _cling_ and _twang_ of the two metals colliding with one and other, the sound ghosting its way only a little through those grey wall before slowly dying away…

Nel and Clair sat together in corner of the room, eyeing the boy from behind, their eagle brass eyes offering support to the policeman if he needed it, anytime.

Cliff pulled up a chair in front of him, the only spaces separating the two being a cheap, rugged blue table. He smiled mischievously, much to the younger man's anger. Cliff burst out laughing as his venomous violet tried to poison his confidence, and then laughed even more as he raged upwards, chair still attached to his back, nearly knocking him off balance.

Cliff struggled to hold back a smirk. "Ya don't really think much about things, do ya, kid?"

The other one looked up at him disdainfully.

"Shut your face." He growled, controlling his simmering anger and plopping himself back on the floor. He avoided eye contact with Cliff, hiding away his vulnerable eyes within the dusky shadows and behind his ragged matt of pearl white hair. His two scarves- some sort of new street trend- piled elegantly on the floor, the strands only parting to form an unorganized pile of mess.

But Cliff only smiled, leaning closer and twisting his head to gain a better view of the boy. His fair hair glistened from what little light that entered the room and his fingers tapped on the rim of the table in a frenzied beat. The younger boy frowned.

"Will ya stop doing that?! You're getting on my fucking nerves!"

"Huh? Oh, this?" Cliff teased, continuing to more turbulent beat. He grinned; _Dun da dun…dun da dun…_Cliff was playing the drums again in his mind, a back up guitar playing alongside him as his right hand played a separate tune. His playful eyes gleamed into the violet ones. "Ya don't like it?"

"Stop." The younger one growled again, his voice faltering. "C-can't we just get on with this, for God's sake?"

Cliff grinned elfishly. Picking up his pen with his left hand, he teleported the rim of it into the realms of the warped land of paper, the ink scarring the material as he repeatedly stroked at it. A droplet of black ink slipped from the nib, marking the paper, and dripped slowly down it like blood… "Ya name?"

"Why do you care?"

"Oh? I thought you wanted to…"_get on with this"?"_

"Shut up, okay?!"

"No," Cliff spoke sternly, "no, I won't, kid. You're going to tell me your name before I get tired of lecturing ya…"

Nel rose to her feet, eyes deathly serious. "Listen Cliff. You're easy to get in a fight with. Calm yourself…and _you,_" the boy twisted in his chair, throwing stone cold daggers at her face, his expression twisted with rage. Fortunately for Nel, she was just as skilled to throw the same icy glare back to him. "You don't have a choice here. You will co-operate." She suddenly smiled tentatively. "Or would like you rot in prison?"

Clair tugged at Nel's arm. "Nel, you didn't have to put it like that…"

Either way, Cliff beamed gleefully, tapping his finger even louder so that the boy faced him abruptly. "Yeah, ya don't want ta mess with these ladies. They can get even nastier than I can!"

"…"

Cliff took the boy's silence as an indicator of being ready for questions. The space around them suddenly felt a lot less compressed as his fury started to cool down, as if a violent volcano was fooling those around it into thinking it was going to erupt, and then suddenly, everything was slipped in the calm.

"So. Name, kid?"

"…Jet." He replied bitterly.

"Hmm? Is that right, Clair?"

Clair eyed a piece of paper she had been hiding inside her palm up in front of her eyes. "Seemingly so." She replied softly.

"Aha!" Cliff exclaimed, a huge grin plastering over his face as though he were drunk. "We're finally getting through to ya! Well…what's ya _full_ name? 'Cause ya were meant to say ya second, too…"

"Don't have one, don't think."

"Ya don't think?" Cliff scratched his head confused. "Ain't it Smith, or Ryan, or Bush or somethin' like that? Clair, check it for me."

"Seriously!" Jet said, "I don't know it if I do!"

"…It says "Enduro" here, Cliff, but its old information, so we can't be sure."

"Sure. Okay. Let's just say you're called "Mr. Enduro" for now, then. And besides, even with my lack of Spanish language or whatever, you won't be able to "endure" through our questions that long, that's for sure!" Cliff laughed at his own joke, laughing into his own chest. Those violet eyes watched upon him patiently and dully, waiting for him to stop. Cliff regained control of himself soon enough, tears dripping from his eyes. He took a breath and continued, those grey walls somewhat sparking a sense of a veritable utopia and sense of security for Cliff.

"So. Yesterday, during the late hours of the afternoon, we were tipped off about tow men… Doctor Robert Leingod and an Albel Nox…ya familiar with them?"

Jet sat pensively, clearly irritated. "The Leingods…maybe. The guy and the woman from Kingsworth, right? Only know so much about them. Sorry." He shook his head unapologetically.

Cliff leaned in closer, his patience waning. "_Any_ little information will help." He stressed each syllable.

Jet groaned smacking his head. "Damnit." he muttered, "Fine. Since you're so damn interested, I'll tell this little _"information_"Will that make you happy then?" No response followed but that handsomely irritating grin of Cliff's.

"Shit," Jet cussed quietly. "My brother worked with them for a bit. The Leingods, I mean. He helped them with some stuff. Just stuff for our daily bread, ya know?"

"Illegal stuff, I guess?" Cliff stabbed, "I suppose when ya poor, ya can't help but stoop low for ya—"

Nel suddenly appeared behind Cliff, leaning in boldly towards his ear like a sire, trying to seduce him…"We have a rule, Cliff, and that's not to intimidate our interviewees too much."

Cliff shook his head in disapproval, glaring down the badges on his broad chest. They shimmered of royal perfection, and served to remind him of his talent in uneventful and seemingly unmoving situations, and for a moment, he brushed the tips of his fingers against the markings, the runes departing his skin like a canyon would the earth. They were his underlying confidence; his proof that he was good at his job…

Cliff took a breath, his words flowing in a sarcastic manner. "Fine. Okay then, _Jet_. Lemme fill you in on what happened last night. We've been searching and tailing these Leingod and Nox fellows for quite a while now. We got a little "tip" last night about them both in Leingod's house, so we- I, rather, parked myself outside, awaiting orders. Then, what do ya know? I see some crazed rugged, dark haired fella drag their son up to the window with a _knife_ to his neck." Cliff stroked at his chin whilst Jet looked up at him, baffled. "Fayt. Apparently, he's Leingod's son."

"News to me." Jet scoffed.

Cliff groaned loudly. _Boy,_ _this is going to be one hell of a long one…_"Meaning?"

"I've never heard of no "Fayt Leingod". Sure ya ain't making things up? It's a stupid name, anyway. One some little kid might make for a fairy story…but not something I'd expect a _great and almighty _guy like _yourself_ to come up with, seeing you're so "intelligent". If you made that up, _really_… let's just say you have the mentality of that Gallows fella, too…" Jet sneered, his pearl white teeth obviously making up for his rotten personality.

Cliff's fist, beknowest to him, started to clench, and inside Cliff debated with himself as to why. _He's just a kid!_ He argued, his mind at unrest as if his mind was traveling through the breadths of some dark forest, confused as he imagined the kids face once more. His shy little smile illuminated within him… and Cliff didn't understand why. "Fayt is real." Cliff argued. "That kid's the real thing. All we want to know is why he was kept in the Leingod hostage, and after being grabbed, that house was up in flames!"

Jet looked over his shoulder stubbornly, growling. His feet jumped together as if they were affected by gravity, two enigmatic poles attracting each other, as his entire body was wrecked by nerves. Cliff's tongue caught with the roof of his mouth as he carefully plotted out his next words, each thought connecting together carefully like cut patterns on paper, and he turned his face again to meet with Jet's eyes. He smiled at him like a child, as if they were playing a game of Peek-a-boo.

"I'll tell ya what happened, then," Cliff started softly, "I'll tell ya, since you _oh so conveniently_ do not seem to know…" He flexed his fingers for a moment, the marrow between each joint crunching softly as they meet themselves with the air. "This Fayt was left with more than what you'd call a scratch. He's around your age; fifteen or so…"

Nel and Clair looked on worriedly in the distance as they saw the amethyst shimmer in Jet's eyes fade, and patch with fear, as Cliff told him the entire story; how Fayt looked, how he acted, how he was barely clothed…

Sighing with a breath after he finished, Cliff swung his feet up on the table, leaning back and staring up into empty rooftop, tired, wanting a beer. Wondering (as he sometimes did) whether or not his job was right for him, if the law couldn't be firmly placed into his hands…_Hey! Why not?_ Cliff pondered.

He rose to his feet suddenly, and began walking towards the door. Smiling as he knew what he was going to do, and where he was going to go…

"Wait!" Clair barked, scampering after him. Her usually gentle expression did not look the same, and Nel was soon to follow, but with her face looking as though she was going to deliver some sort of divine wrath upon the Klausian, he stopped and turned, looking straight into their faces. Nel exploded.

"What about _him_! You're meant to be interviewing him!"

"Yes, I quite agree," Clair nodded, notioning to Jet, sitting sulkily in his seat as though some heavy burden had hit him. "He's not going to be giving answers by himself, after all." She added philosophically

Cliff scratched his head, a blur of rose reaching his cheeks. He suddenly realized why it was he wanted to leave the place…his nagging, mother-hen personality just couldn't leave that kid alone in hospital out of the blue, in his state…_Fayt…_

"Urr… I'm going to get a coffee!" He lied sophisticatedly through his teeth, running through the doors energetically and down the corridor, bumping into random people as he went, his feet propelling him through the air powerfully, like a kangaroo would speed through the dusky plains. Seconds before he reached the door, he ran into an unsuspecting, coffee-holding Roger, which resulted in a very hot and toasty, annoying rodent. Cliff concluded that the thing needed a bath, anyway.

As his hand reached for the handle, he heard Nel snap at him:

"Liar! You got one this morning!"

But, within the blink of an eye, he had disappeared from her sight.

---

As he sat in his room, Fayt didn't know what was more mystifying; the murmurs and whisperings he was hearing as each person drifted past him like a ghost, or his eerie reflection in the mirror on the left hand side of the room, the reflection that seemed to smile and grin at his pitiful being.

_Leave me alone,_ Fayt thought sulkily, burying the side of his head into the pillow, his stomach growling, _I need some sleep…_

Any nurse, or doctor, or innocent by passer would have seen the same thing in that room; an everyday scene of a seeing a patient staring himself down in the mirror as he lay in bed. Maybe the intensity of his stare was little odd, but it was nothing particularly "out of the blue" or abnormal. The sun now played and shone happily through his window, enlightening his face in a more positive light, the blood-red carvings on his face now beginning to fade away slowly…the light played tricks in the reflections in his mirror, his alter-image bending steadily to the left, exactly that same as he was…

Or, at least, that's what they seen.

Fayt pleaded softly with those diamond crusts of eyes, those very same eyes he had, except a little darker. His bright, fluorescent hair, as he looked in the mirror, had changed to a dusky brown tome, and his soft and frightened deer expression had been transformed into a tiger's grin. His pearl white teeth had become ghost-like, almost transparent, with an alluring sense of danger associated around them. The figure in the mirror grinned mercilessly at Fayt's state as he lay, still wounded and weak.

"_Oh? Not nice words to ask of me when I saved your live, huh?"_

…_Just leave me!_ Fayt thought desperately, shutting his eyes, blanking out his view from the world around him. _Stop…stop, please…!_

The image placed his fingers on his lips; his nails were caked with blood and dirt, and licked them playfully. _"Yeah, that's right. Hide under the covers away from me, Fayt. Like a little baby!" _The voice taunted cruellyFayt shuffled his way deeper into the covers, crystal tears flowing from his angelic face underneath them, shaking, frightened.

The other image smiled, seemingly amused. _"But the thing is, Fayt…__you and I__ killed them. Not that idiotic coward Shelby, though we should have killed him too, don't you think? The things he tried to do to you…" _The voice cooed gently, his bloodied hand touching the rims of the glass, as if he was trying to pass through the realms of the mirror and walk straight out of it.

Fayt scrunched himself tight into a ball. He didn't need reminding of such things…his stomach fought back the torrenting urge inside of him to lift and dispose of his outsides as his body wrecked itself with his guilt, the symbolic blood pumping through his veins haphazardly as he tried to shelter himself from the ongoing assault by that wicked smile. His own wicked smile.

With a shuffle of brown hair, he continued, beaming callously. _"And this Cliff Fittir, this "policeman extraordinaire" as he called himself…he's quite a guy, isn't he?"_

Fayt shot up from the covers immediately, a blush appearing on his fragile face. _Why does he think…?_

"_Heh. You ponder why, and yet you know why, really. I can see through you, remember? I am you, and you are me. Nothing too dissimilar."_

"What do you mean?" Fayt growled out loud, his eyes flaring a rigorous jade and his fists clenching tightly.

"_Oh, you don't think I saw, did you? I saw the way you looked into those…oh, so lustful eyes…I saw how you looked bizarrely into his chest…and I heard your wish for him to hold you "forever". That was your thought! In the exact appropriate words!"_

The image grinned heartily to himself, folding his arms in satisfaction as Fayt rose to his feet angrily, his "beautiful" features soon becoming cleverly distorted as his nose creased together with the rest of his skin.

"I don't know what I hate more; you or Shelby." Fayt replied as calm as he could muster, his little teeth seeping through his lips, and his blush darkening as he thought about _his savior. _His nails dug into his skin ravenously, as if he were a small child clawing away at dead seeds within a barren, empty wasteland, and his feet stayed fastened to the ground, never swaying, never showing the signs of how intimidated he was. He looked truthfully into his twin image's eyes, searching for something, as though he was looking for something that he knew he'd never find.

The hospital alert system suddenly sounded throughout the hospital: _This is Highgrove Hospital Update. Please will the owner of the black BMX behind the A & E department please remove their vehicle to one of the allocated parking spaces. Thank you._

After both turning their heads, listening to the speakers above them, the image in the mirror turned mischievously to Fayt, his lips forming a deformed smile, and his thin little ice fingers tapping away at the surface.

"_They're here." _It stated calmly.

In that moment in time, Fayt didn't quite understand what the image meant.

"Who are here?" He demanded.

"_Our favorite visitors. Don't you remember?" _The image breathed sexily, leaning the mirror image of Fayt's slim, sophisticated body against the surface, as though his entire chest was _dying_ to puncture itself through. _"The wonderful Kyoko Esteed and her cronies…I forget their names…oh yes…Vox and Demos… oh yes, what fitting names for our abusers…"_ The devil in his eyes grinned impudently upon Fayt's gaunt, pale appearance. The image idly sauntered his face into the palms of his hands, meeting eye-to-eye with those peaceful, yet utterly archaic eyes of Fayt's, hunting down the confidence inside of him._ "I don't think you should have a choice in this…" _He breathed hazily, eyes sleepy and seducing, _"…and __I__ don't think I'm going to let you. You see, you're going to let me out…" _Fayt gritted his teeth in anger, _"and let me at him. It's the only way we're going to survive them."_

"Stop it!" Fayt screamed. "You're _not_ going to hurt anyone! Not again!"

The winter dusk started to stray into the scene, it's droplets of crimson and gold wadding themselves in past the hollow, dirty hospital curtains and beautifully-if not oddly- painting the flooring a mirage of twilight patterns, as the white marble glistened heavily, little stars of dreamy light shimmering in the corner of Fayt's eyes.

But then the peace was disturbed, and the image glared upon Fayt teasingly._ "You're going to stop me? Love to see you try it. Then, after that, I'll stay that way; outside, forever. You can't stop me."_ His ugly tongue stuck out through beneath his impish lips. _"Then I'll take him. He'll be __mine_. _And all you'll be able to do is bang your little dainty fists against these little walls I have around me, while you watch us together, "happily ever after"."_ He added maliciously.

Something in this triggered Fayt. He raged, running towards the mirror, fists held back aggressively, fingers curled tight. His skin touched with the mirror. It cracked beneath his pressure. The image looked surprised as it saw the tidal wave of anger that had swept Fayt up in its current. The sound rang. The alternate world seemed to shatter beneath Fayt's fingers, shards digging slowly into his skin, searching for blood. The jewels of Fayt's life-force slipped away from a few openings, bursting like water in an overflowing riverbank, and for that precise moment, the alternate world seemed to have been shattered, and destroyed from all existence. However, as three shards fell to the floor and a door opened behind him. Fayt saw the image grinning happily in the fragments, glaring over at the entrance to the room knowingly.

Fayt looked up cautiously, and his eyes met once again with the romance and novelistic charisma of those heroic blue eyes. That _gorgeous_ blond hair. As the blood seeped away from his knuckles, Fayt stood there anxiously, afraid of the look he was undoubtedly about to receive. He turned again to the crystalline shards, the only image to be seen the glower and playful attitude of his mirror image as he placed his fingers on his lips:

"_Shh…I'm a secret."_

---

**What the hell? To be continued, folks…**

**Zel's Notas: **I'm so sorry! This took ages, and I hope the length of this shows for it…this ate up just over 17 pages this time around…

When one of my friends was check reading through this, she got confused at the beginning when Fayt says to Farleen "I think you just spoked one hundred words." Why did I include this? Let's just say that inspiration can spurt itself from the strangest of people; those two people being my little "step-bother" and friend. The step-brother always says "spoked" instead of "said", and he's twelve years old; I've given up on correcting him! Also, I have a friend who has a mild obsession with the number 100…and the are both the psychological spit of Fayt, I swear! It was just a fleeting little idea that passed through my head, and I thought it would be a little unusual to include…

I chose the name "Veritable Utopia" because they are conflicting words that mean the exact opposite. I mean, how can a utopia be veritable? It makes no sense. But then again, when I was writing this chapter, I didn't want it to make full sense, because I want to people to have a good think about what I'm going to do next. Because of this, I don't think I've got Fayt or Cliff in character at all…but I've definitely tried my hand at it.

And another thing I got told was this: "Demos is not a real name! (My name), what the hell kind of name is that!?" (exact words!) Demos is my own character, and his name stems from the Greek-Latin variation of the word "Democracy", which is "demoskratos"; meaning "power to the people". I'd like to think of him as enigmatic at the moment, and I don't know how I'm going to twist him about, since his name literally means "for the people". Give me some clues!

Oh, and did anyone guess that man was Shelby in Chapter 1? I suppose I'm not brilliant at giving away clues! But then again, I couldn't really describe him that well; I guessed his hair colour…oh, but if that wasn't Albel, then what part does he play? Oh, even I'm confused! I'll make sense of this in later chapters, don't worry…:D

Jet is a Wild Arms 3 character, and I think he's the only person I have got in character; 'cause he's a jerk. And the same for this Gallows I mentioned; who's basically an incredibly dumb version of Cliff, but high :P They're not mine.Why's Jet being questioned? That's still to come. I was going to make this chapter longer and say, buuut…I'm either mean or very generous!

And what's going on with Fayt? -Zips her lips-

…and I will be having a shonen-ai chapter next! With sugar on the top! Without photons! Or at least, I hope… anyhow, feedback and little reviews are awesomely ace.

(…Did that make sense? Awesomely ace? Oh, never mind, back under the shell I go!)


	3. Chapter 3: Shattered Bliss

**Disclaimers: **My empty piggy bank says this: "Zel does not own Star Ocean 3 or Jet." However, I do own very few pennies, Demos and Zeral © (no more original characters!) and a mood ring that says either Zel is constantly depressed and angry, or, it does not work. Therefore, don't sue me!

**Pairing: **Cliff x Fayt. Duh: D

**Warnings: **Classic Shonen-ai, psychosis, an OOC Fayt…can't reveal too much…

**Plot Theosis:** Questions arise as Cliff trespasses upon Fayt's state, and Fayt struggles with a few demons of his own…meanwhile, Esteed and her cronies tread ever closer into breaching Fayt's haven. What do they want with him, anyway? And it seems they're not the only ones after him, either…

**Shout outs: **Who said nobody was writing Star Ocean?! -Glorifies in her own light, but then thinks maybe that's just a little sad- Well, it's not exactly Star Ocean when it's AU, but hey, its something. Just a warning: there's going to be a HELL of a lot of plot twists and little riddles here and there from now on. I've actually got a plot in mind, and I know how I'm going to end it as well (whoa, and I'm only on the THIRD chapter?!)

You all know I love you, right?

**4quintessence,** Swearing can now be seen! How the heck did I do that, anyway 0o? I don't know how I did it, but...ahh, must have been half asleep. LOL you're not dumb at all with Farleen, don't worry. I didn't really introduce her properly, so that's not your fault. I laughed about the "atoms" bit, too actually! I put it in to pee everyone off. Well, I can assure you, there's no atoms, photons or anything neurophysicsy here on. There's ONE description with a science relation from what I remember, and... you'll see! Cheesy-ness. And I like sad jokes sometimes- I just had to crack about poor Enduro :O Thanks for the concrit as well! Sometimes I think I overdo things with descriptions, and light is my weakness; I'm obsessed with light!

**DarkLuminescence** & **Ikary** : La, la, la- Ikary and D.L like my story- la, la, la! Anyways, thank you both for alerting this: enjoy this chapter!

Well, all this palark and stuff out the way (and from now on, "palark" is a word!") And onto my update…

…And a final note to myself: Leaving the kitchen with burning pancakes to set on fire is NEVER a good thing :D

Note: _Italics_ Whoo-hoo! Flashbacks.

---

**Chapter 3: Shattered Bliss**

The lamps of the city twinkled dimly against the musky sky, the sun-kissed bricks sleeping in the midnight mist as a small figure crept its way past the station. A motorbike pulled alongside the grey, tinted and brushed road, rubber tire marks eating away at the fresh tarmac, and the biker dismounted to face the other shadow. Two pairs of devious eyes met, and squinted violently at each other, daring each other to move. Some seconds passed, and both took their first step forward, each footstep mirroring the other as the cobbled grit beneath their feet parted in an earthly scar. As they stood a foot between, the taller, leaner body looked around nervously for any onlookers, and finding none, met its eyes with the others' chest.

"So then, my beauty? Anything new?"

"You forget who I am."

"Sure, sure. Ya my boss. Still, no point in not trying to woo a beautiful lady, _such as yourself."_

"Zeral, you pervert."

The man known as Zeral grinned mischievously, and placed a slim hand on his hip. "Yeah. That ain't new. Well?"

"_It_ goes without saying; they're giving Jet as rough a time as any."

"Tch. Poor little bro, can't catch a bird or be in the right place. Either way, he's bait, inn' he?"

"And they've fell for it!" The woman concluded quickly.

Seconds passed and the towering Zeral relaxed his body, flopping his back into a curved bow, signalling the lady to walk on head of him. A glimmer of his natural, ruby red locks glimmered and bounced in the lamplight as the petite brunette trampled her way on the cracked stone paving.

She stumbled on forwards. Her work clothes pinned against her body smartly as not to reveal anything (with the exception of her pants zipper, which dangled open in a V shape), her feet dwindling and fitting into an invisible line with each and every step she took. Behind her followed Zeral, who' s face was bizarrely cheerful; he looked just like a little child who had just been promised a large bag of sweets…or more accurately, how a lover would look like after an especially tiresome night (A/N: Think it over…). His clothes were…unusual to say the least; with pearl white cowboy boots, a pink bandana, lilac top, orange cuffs, yellow bracelets, baggy blue pants and green collar- and just covered the basics of his description- the man looked as though he lived and breathed a rainbow.

Car horns beeped as they met with the end of the road, which was unexpectedly full, the school of daring beams glaring into their eyes, as though they were fish trapped within the crevasses and depths of a deep, unforgiving ocean.

"Mmm…let's find somewhere more quiet, mmm-kay?" Zeral breathed slowly, heavily.

The brunette snapped her head around in temper. "You make it sound like we're out for sex!" She hissed sharply, "I thought we were out to talk about business!"

"Ohh, temper, temper." Zeral cooed coolly, turning on his heels and walking underneath a leafy, wall climbing bush, the curls in his hair forming elfin rose shapes as they blended in with their surroundings, only missing their thorns. "Don't worry. I know just the place."

They turned back, paced up a little up the hill, and then crossed over the road as a fork emerged, feet before they reached the station again. They passed several houses- their curtains typically drawn over the windows in crescent shapes, some broken, even, through constant fights or break ins- and they trod carelessly over the shattered glass shards, the crystals crumpling, squelching, under their weight. Soon, they took a right and turned themselves into a dark alleyway, the walls crystallising a thick lincrusta of passionate sandstone. The crisp lazulite encrusted beneath the window light above them stared dully on their heads as Zeral lit a tiny match, illuminating the path only slightly- walking across the ragged stones, leading the fierce woman as a linkboy would have scoured the streets at night. Zeral stopped as they reached the corner- and beyond sightings through people's windows and their ears, he spoke calmly.

"So. Obviously my little bro's in trouble for a while then." Zeral stated calmly.

The woman nodded. "Yes. He is." A bitter-sweet tone latched onto her lips.

"So much for the plan, I suppose."

"And what else?" She asked leadingly. "We only know that Leingod boy is being detained, but no doubt he'll be knocked out the cage soon."

"Which Leingod boy?" Zeral asked, confused. His upper brow curved into a curious crescent.

The brunette whacked him across the head brusquely, her tiny mouth curling into a disgusted sneer. "You insult your intelligence every time I see you these days, Zeral. To think they called you a savant surprises me at times."

"Ouch," Zeral muttered silently to himself, not quite sure whether the insult hurt more than the smack. "Okay, okay. So I thought there was more than one. Least I'm not as stupid as to think there isn't one at all."

"Leingod. Fayt Leingod." She stressed nastily.

"Oh yeah. That's his name. Fancy that for a name."

"That stupid blond ape is off to "look after him". An' he's dafter than that old bogey and flea-ridden rodent combined, hands down."

"Ah, good old Cliff, the "policeman extraordinaire?" Zeral tinged slightly, and a slither of his sun-bleached hair hung past his shoulders as he wriggled a finger. The brunette nodded. "You're kidding." Zeral pouted bitterly. "Why not that Adray guy? The good cop?"

"Because he's an old prat, and no, I'm not kidding." She replied. "He went to the hospital well over four hours ago, to check up on "the kid"…and Nel just let him go."

"You sure have good spies…"

"I _am_ the spy," The woman answered craftily. "What? I'm not all what the wonderful, zany Zeral expected?"

"Hmm…" Zeral thought pensively, leaning back against the murky wall, and a little pyre igniting within his chocolate brown eyes. He flickered his eyelids shut for a moment, and rolled them back, broodingly.

They batted back open again.

"You realise what ya're going to ask me to do is going to be near impossible, right? That they probably don't just have that _blundering idiot_ there, but that…"

"Yes, I do." The brunette replied curtly, as if the topic was a sour taste in her mouth. Her turquoise eyes shimmered strangely, _dangerously_ as they shifted from left to right.

A few clouds in the midnight sky shifted away drearily, revealing the dim wonder of Draco coiling above their head. Within seconds again, however, the constellation became wisped in the grey fog, and banished itself away from sight, as if it has slid into a wild bush.

Leaning into his eye, she grinned happily.

"This is what we do instead…"

And all Zeral could do was nod as he listened intently to her soft words. This was what they would do instead. This was how they'd thwart everyone…if only for the spur of a moment…

---

**Four hours earlier…**

Seconds dreamed their way past the both of them as Fayt looked into Cliff's vigorous, active eyes, awaiting the disgusted reaction that was undoubtedly going to form upon his face. His body stiffened as he saw how Cliff's gaze lifted from the broken glass- some of the pieces, of which, had, obscurely, started to dissipate away from sight. A small little lamp above their heads flickered on as Cliff flicked on the main switch, an artificial sundog faintly bouncing against the walls, but if only for a few seconds as Cliff switched it off again, and opened the blinds fully. The purple haired nurse peeped through the window mysteriously in the corner of Cliff's eye, peering curiously into the scene. Cliff thought nothing of her as she walked away calmly, smiling…

As Cliff turned again to meet with Fayt- who was still frozen to the spot- he grinned. The blipping to a nearby monitor matched the harried beats in Fayt's bandaged chest, and pain started to tinge slowly through his body with tiny snow crystals clinging to his spine. He felt his heart pumping in his ears, as though a sea shell had been hooked closely near it, the same empty void of white noise echoing…

But even after Cliff had seen the broken shards, he still beamed. A warm, comforting smile…

"Re-decoration, huh?"

Fayt staggered back, surprised. "Uh…yeah…" he replied weakly.

Cliff nodded slowly and sat himself on the stool, transfixed into his Fayt's forest eyes as moments passed. Fayt felt his gaze wander his body, rather than his face, curiously, and a sweeping feeling of amiability swept through his body, as small waves would crash against a golden shore. He felt…calm, relaxed- and a sweet, lasting taste dyed him tongue. Even the stalking, cool blood, which flaked down from his knuckles, didn't unnerve him.

Fayt walked over to his bed without thinking, slipping himself into the wafer thin covers, and sat upright. Cliff was still eyeing up his body, and for seconds, Fayt saw the room's wallpaper transform into a dirty white, little aeroplanes trailing along the bridge of the faint, brown lines. He remembered…broken toys…ripped sheets…the_ smell…_ his heart pounded against his chest silently, and gripped the sheets within his pale fists.

"You sure are tall for your age." Cliff commented bizarrely. He immediately caught a bewildered look from Fayt, confused as to where exactly that comment has arisen from. "I mean," Cliff continued, "considering what's happened to ya, you'd think you'd be more…erh…"

"More…what?" Fayt asked, frowning.

"More, er…_little_." Cliff compromised, breaking into a winning smile that made even Fayt laugh. For what Cliff would call extra "_Wow" _factor, Cliff popped his eyes open, and flicked back his straight, sleek hair. Fayt's heart skipped unusually for a second, but then sprung back into place, as Cliff's face retorted to normal. Cliff had stopped as he saw Fayt suddenly wriggle uncomfortably, ashamed of himself.

"Hmm?" Cliff pondered curiously, "What's up?"

"N-nothing." Fayt fibbed quickly, "Just…my ears hurt a bit. That's all."

"_Such lies…" _Fayt heard, the tunes lingering on the air. He swiftly eyed his surroundings, trying to find of any evidence of where that same, satanic voice lingered from, without drawing the attention of Cliff. But he found nothing; nothing but antiseptic tables; nothing but cheap, flimsy curtains; nothing but marble white, CIF bathed floors; nothing but nothing but the normal.

Cliff still sat there, transfixed. He started to wonder why Fayt was wriggling so much in his bed- was it something simple, like bedbugs? _Nah…can't be_, Cliff correctly concluded, as he heard the irregular pants immerging from Fayt's slim, flushed lips. Then, at that moment, Cliff noticed the gradual pitter and patter of Fayt's fresh blood trailing down his fingers, and then onto the floor. He rose from the stool, and reaching into the drawers beneath the small table, Cliff revealed a roll of bandages, and some antiseptic cream.

He quickly grabbed Fayt, and pulled his hand close to his face, examining it carefully.

"W-what are you doing?!" Fayt stammered, afraid.

"Cleaning you up." Cliff answered back, simply.

"But! You're not a-" Fayt started, but he was interrupted as Cliff turned his hand from side to side, those gentle, masculine fingers rubbing softly, soothingly, against the palm of his hand.

Cliff soon found the source of the bleeding; a long, thin cut across and between his knuckles. A small crystal of glass lay motionless between Fayt's middle finger, and he didn't flinch when Cliff brushed it out, a small crater of essence bubbling from his skin. Taking some tissue from his pocket, and dabbing it in the antiseptic, he then massaged in onto Fayt's wound. Fayt winced- but not once did he retract his hand from Cliff's grasps.

"Sorry," Cliff mumbled consciously as he saw Fayt's hand begin to shake. "This is gonna hurt."

Fayt didn't reply. Instead, he gritted his tiny teeth as Cliff stroked at his hand, carefully wiping away the blood, like a mother would do to a child who'd just grazed their knee.

Cliff was being careful. Trying not to hurt him. Trying to make him feel better…and it was working.

"Cliff, right?" Fayt asked tentatively, as Cliff finished wrapping the bandages.

"Yeah?"

"Cliff…_Fittir_? Is that your second name?"

"Yeah, that's me?"

Fayt lifted his injured hand away from Cliff's, expecting just a little bit of pain. Feeling nothing, he grinned happily "…Thanks…"

Cliff sat blankly for a moment, and then nodded his head sleepily. He placed his head on his hands, the elbows conjoined to his knees. Cliff didn't understand why, but it was tough for the blond to watch the little bluenette and try and his head firmly within his palms. His hands were shaking too much as he found Fayt's gloomy eyes…

And as Fayt slipped his head onto to pillow and closed his eyes wearily, Cliff sat there, stationary, fiddling his thumbs curiously as he watched the bluenette quickly, the humming of his monitor lowering as his gentle breathing increased- and Cliff wondered why the heck it was so difficult for him to just walk out the door and leave him be, leave him rest…Fayt's little mouth puffed open between Cliff's shattered thoughts, eliminating them completely…

Well, all except the one.

Cliff's ocean eyes parted from Fayt's body and onto the shards. The edges of the tiny fragments were blemished with droplets of blood, and a dark rainbow crisped itself around in the centre from the reflected light. Cliff's confused expression reflected itself pupil to pupil, a single figment of a blood stained his blade repeating itself within his mind, and his reflection seemed nothing more than a shadow. Combing back his hair slightly, and smiling cockily, he jeered at his own likeness.

"What you lookin' at?" He whispered, before touching Fayt's velvet-soft hand, tracing every corner of the younger one's palm with his fingers…

Nothing happened. Fayt shifted slightly to the right, his mouth still cooing open, and rolled towards the stroking hand, like a cat would in sleep…

No noise except the humming and beating of the nearby engines…_ blip…bleep…_perfection. Heaven on earth within a place of hurt and unease.

Cliff picked up Fayt's bandaged hand and kissed it gently. Even to Cliff, this felt just about right.

---

_Outside the hospital…_

"_This__ is a Highgrove Hospital Update. Please will the owner of the black BMX behind the A & E department please remove their vehicle to one of the-"_

"Aww, shut the fuck up," Vox growled impatiently, "we're waiting on something."

"Vox," Kyoko's voice lingered gingerly as she smoked a cigarette, puffing out the grey poison from her full, pale lips, "you think they were actually talking to _you?_"

Vox turned, crazed. "Of course not!"

"You're paranoid." Demos sneered at Vox. Vox batted him a destructive look, snarling like an animal through his yellow teeth. Demos, however, was not fazed; instead he proceeded to laugh at the previous captain, his thin nose scrunching itself together behind the stone white, oriental mask. Beckoning and teasing Vox with a "come get it" signal, Vox dug his fingers into the edge of the seat, the grey ooze of the fly still dripping and slivering down the window panes.

"That may frighten those we kill, Vox, but you do not scare _me_." Demos stated coldly. "I think I know a bit more about your _illness_…better than you do, anyway."

Vox looked about to leap towards his extravagant partner, but Kyoko neutralised the atmosphere with her cool voice.

"Hush…" She murmured softly. "Here comes our little messenger…"

The car window levered down slowly, the purring buzz of the little engine rattling against the small droplets of rain that fell onto and drizzled down the windscreen. A short woman walked towards the BMX, he back curved straight, and her head raised high. Kyoko smiled politely at her, and she nodded.

"Good evening."

"I daresay it isn't evening yet," the blonde replied heartily. "Not quite even sunset."

"Linguistic as ever, I see," Kyoko commented, grinning harshly as though she was struggling to keep a lion bared behind in a cage. "Pity. Look what you've become."

At this, the woman glared quickly at her toes, and then glanced quickly at Demos and Vox, who were seething at each other in the corner. She wasn't impressed by the thought that she could have become like _them, _even if they did earn more money, even if they had a more exciting life than her, even if they were more "intelligent"…Vox happily blew vile bubbles from his mouth with his own spit, and Demos picked away at the skin in the corners of his fingers. Who would have wanted to be like them?

"So?" The woman countered shrewdly, her perfect heels tilting upwards, her voice smooth and competent. "Nothing wrong with wanting to help people-"

"And help you shall." Kyoko interrupted rudely. "So then, Tynave…what of the little _darling_ we have in there?"

"He's fine." The lady named Tynave replied brusquely, rapidly turning over her shoulder to check and see that nobody was watching them. The windows behind her were dull and fooling, and the grass beneath the bottom floor was so emulsified by shadows that even the stems grew black. The soil in some places mounded upon itself, and the flowers on each balcony- except the highest balcony- bowed down towards the tarnished terrain. The petals wept, and the leaves withered, showing their age…

Seconds flew. The wind played on their ears teasingly. But only for a moment.

Kyoko leaned in.

"So?" She snarled quietly, the tone of her voice wavering between aggressive and intrigued. "How are we going to get him out? You work here. You know here."

Tynave wavered her hands innocently in the air, stunned and panicked. "I, erm! I know how to get you in there, don't worry!"

"Get _me_ in there?" She repeated, sarcasm dripping slowly from her voice. "I don't want to go in a hospital, my dear. Why, my clothes will be ruined…"

"Oh, now. We wouldn't want _that. _Too many similarities between you and your daughter will ruin you..."

"Shut up, Demos. So…how, Tynave? How will we get him out? And how will we get past…you know… _those_?" Kyoko's voice fringed on the word "those", as though the word itself had a bitter taste on her tongue.

Tynave smiled wickedly, and leaned on the rubber of the window frame, her sharp elbows curving into the shape of the car, and her thin fingers touched the insides magnetically. "Oh, they're not a problem," she breathed casually.

"It'll be fine. You see. I figures they're just going to try and get that bimbo guy out the way, then rush and grab him. Possibly tomorrow. But you know…" Tynave tapped her fingers in rhythm on the rubber, "He is a strange one, isn't he? I don't think he'll be sleeping for long…he'll be up and at 'em before we know it…so please: trust me on this one."

---

_Inside the hospital, four hours later…_

…

_Night dwindled across the_

_Sky. Diamonds glistened against_

_The bleak, bleached night._

_And the moonlight shone,_

_And the night birds kissed_

_The dark, blessed sky._

_And mountains of forest were_

_Overcame by the silent chips,_

_The frozen silent beeps, the _

_Dead machinery. The unattached_

_Machinery. Without life to support it._

Cliff woke himself up in the dead of the night, his arm pillowing his face as he slumped from the stool and onto a nearby desk. _Damn_, he thought instinctively, _must have fallen asleep. Huh, sure is dark…_His right hand clawed curiously at the empty space around him.

Empty.

A bed was to his side, but nobody was in it. The sheets ran crookedly to the side, and the pillow was scrunched up neatly as thin cobalt strands sat on them, curling carefully. Cliff's eyes explored them. _Aren't those Fayt's…hairs?_ Cliff thought, confused. _What now?_

Cliff rose to his feet, stretching shakily and yawning sleepily. His toes crunched themselves together in his dark, shiny boots, and he dragged himself towards the room door. The bleached floors ensnared and lit his senses, and the quiet beeping of the machines hammered, _hammered_ away in his mind.

With the creak of the door, Cliff stepped around the corner dazedly, his lavender blue eyes exploring the deathly corridors…and he realised: something wasn't quite right.

Something wasn't quite right about how cold the air was- almost like all the heating systems had been shut down completely- and how nobody, not even a nurse, stirred up and down the hall. No snoring from next door could be heard…no rustles of newspapers from patients waiting on those plastic chairs…as Cliff breathed in the atmosphere, he knew.

His hands dived into his pockets, searching for his communicator. But no such luck. He then looked for his mini radio in his jacket pocket, but then, he found the pocket had already been zipped open, empty. The zip behind his mass of badges; empty, his trouser pocket; empty. Everything he could use to contact someone. Gone.

"Shit," Cliff muttered as he stumbled further down the corridor, hands pacing against the walls. "Man, this ain't good…"

---

Fayt knew where he was. He'd seen this view a million times before.

The city lights that closed in on the hospital…how could he forget those bundling lights? Those dancing fireflies swindling the night time air…Fayt had easily remembered the hundred houses which pocketed to the east, down the hill, and when he counted, he saw only ninety-nine. This was the difference; his house- his home, rather- was still alit with cinders, the black smoke gasping and twisting into the air like a coiling snake.

He breathed in the cold air, and shut his eyes for a moment. His heart pounded… his little scar suddenly roared with pain, and the peach overlay of his eye turned to…

"_Wait! Wait!"_

_Fayt was running. Running. Trying to get away…_

_His feet kept on burying themselves in this crimson, red hot sand, the sun striped sky dripping intently ahead of him. He remembers…his vision wavering, like there was some sort of mirage teasing and confusing his way as he dashed through this…desert. An eagle plunged into the clouds in the distance, cawing loudly as its talons tried to grip and whisk away the milky clouds._

_There was an image that led Fayt to freedom kept on sprinting ahead of him, faster and further as the voices behind Fayt caught up with him…with one swoop of heavy sand, Fayt stumbled onto a stoned floor, and blood, gushing from his nose, seeped onto his face. The mirage shook its head sadly, its long, treacle hair flowing animate into the air, as he walked closer to the fallen Fayt, and knelt down slowly, pleading beryl meeting with dazzling rubies._

"_Don't leave me. Don't leave me here alone, I can't run anymore!"_

_The man in front of him didn't move. The voices from behind them crept nearer, and the blood painted skies turned suddenly to a flat, lurid green. Heavenly grass tainted the horizon of Fayt's vision, and his little, shaky hands instinctively gripped onto the older man's. _

_He begged and pleaded, leaning into the man, and crying into his shoulder, panicked. "Don't leave me here, don't leave me here, I can't do it without you! I can't go back in there without you!"_

_His hand felt something…he rose to his knees…but with a loud bang, his left leg screamed with pain, and little Fayt doubled over, screeching painfully as the crimson gold rushed and painted his clothes, like runny paint on a dry canvas. He writhed, he reached into the earth, and gripping the other hand tightly, he shook as he spluttered the words. _

"_D-don't go. Don't let them g-get me. Please," Little Fayt begged, "take me with you! Don't let them take me back!"_

_But Fayt remembers those pools of eyes dripping without care, that gaze pondering and cutting through his skin vacantly._

_The man let go of his hand. Fayt could suddenly hear his father shouting in the distance, and with the icy crunches of this mans feet departing him, he heard his mother snorting tentatively. His heart raced, beating out of his chest but unable to move._

"_No…its not fair! No!" He wailed, pounding his fists into the solid ground. The mirage drifted further and further away, and as his parents caught up with him- roads away from his own- a mirror Fayt appeared before his eyes, that brown hair was wavering, that huge smile curling upwards into a unsympathetic grin. _

"_Told you so." It said, as his father carried him over his shoulder, the bloody river coiling itself onto the shoulder as he carried his son away…_

Fayt's leg drove his senses back to home as his eyes whipped back open, his fingers scratching up and down his bare thighs without knowing…the whispers of the beeping horns down in each and every road sent chills rushing up the hairs on his spine. The crystal gleams of murky scarlet drops and lines of magenta rushed through Fayt's mind as he stumbled to the floor, gripping the peak of his burning thigh. Rubbing it carefully with his injured hand, stinging as though his skin was being torn apart, and with every second that passed, Fayt imagined hearing _their_ footsteps, _their _breathing…and the sickening feeling of tasting their mouldy lips on his own…

He could not allow them to get him. Not again. He would not allow them to hurt him again in the same way that they did last time.

On top of the roof, Fayt walked his way over to edge. He looked down. One heck of a fall. He shivered lightly, and sat himself on the edge, hugging himself to keep him warm, and looking around below him for a place where he could safely jump…

"_Why don't you jump?"_ That same satanic voice sung, melodically. Fayt turned sharply and saw nothing; yet he still heard the voice. _"I mean, as in really jump? Save your life, in one way, and it's the only way __I__ won't get in control of you, if that's what you really want."_

"Leave me," Fayt remarked bitterly, "I'm trying to find a way out." A spanner was suddenly airborne as Fayt knocked it down the rim of the building, tumbling, clanking as the steel met with the stony walls. A silver lining erupted for a second, shining like a neuron star, before gradually fading away. The mirror voice swindled his breath, sounding surprised, and Fayt could imagine the image playing thoughtfully with his chestnut hair, wondering what to do next…

"_I could push you."_

"I could push you, little one, if you'd like?" A charming voice followed.

And then that's when Fayt really spun around, when his stomach really churned. Those fire red locks, those mountain grave eyes, leaning towards closed stairs door with an undeniable passion, his chest ejecting upwards, his rose pink silk shimmering as the moonlight hit his pants.

"Or I could actually get you out of this place," Zeral bargained, "And you won't have to jump-what? - forty feet into skin-ripping shards of metal, and hey, you won't have to face those ugly gits, Demos and Vox, will you?" He flicked back his hair sophisticatedly. "Oh, and by the way, our little quirks won't work with me…you know, the "you-can-read-my-mind", and "twin" thing?"

Fayt raised his eyebrows, suspicious, wondering how this man knew about these little curses he had. "I'm not little." He countered sourly.

"Ohh…touchy." Zeral commented, "Just like your hero, I suppose."

"_Don't… listen… to him." _The voice gurgled_, struggling._

And for once, Fayt trusted in the cause of his nightmares…he clenched his fists tightly.

"What do you mean?" Fayt breathed, irritated. Something just wasn't right…

---

"Clair? Why are you still up at this time of night, working?"

"Nel…take a look at this."

"What is it?"

"I was looking through the profile of this "Jet Enduro" a bit more. Seems he's more involved than we actually thought."

"Are you sure? How can you be sure, Clair?"

"Let's just say, Nel, that with a little bit more common sense and less empathy for your captives, you'd can see past anything, and know everything…even if they don't know it themselves…"

---

_Meanwhile…_

"Damn! It won't open!" Cliff cussed, kicking at the burnt steel at the edge of door, the paint chipping and flaking with each and every strike. A standard lamp was knocked down to the side, saved only by a neighbouring desk, ridden with dust and spider plants which spiralled everywhere like a jungle, and tangled itself around the surface. A ring of vomit green pens centred the Victorian patterns that was printed near the middle of the mahogany surface, an olive pyre erupting from the carved surface. Cliff's hands, still irate, ravished and searched for any hidden locks around the door, certain there had to be one, somewhere…

"C'mon, where are ya?!" Cliff moaned, finger wild. "C'mon…c'mon…"

It was at that moment that all Cliff's ideas all seemed to form, shape and mould together. Empty corridors, no nurses, those announcements about the BMX car outside. His radios were missing. That Albel fella still at large, that smashed mirror before he walked in Fayt's room…Albel had been known in the past for his "violent" rages… and now Fayt himself was missing…for Cliff, there was only one clear explanation. And it made his blood curl.

Still probing the door- which inside was a flight of stairs, leading to the roof, which only Cliff's magical hunch would tell that Fayt was _definitely_ up there- Cliff's thoughts again swam back to the younger one. He remembered how that ocean hair rippled itself on the cloudy pillow, as Fayt slumbered, how his little fingers curled open and shut with every dragon breath (1) he streamed in the air. His nose, a perfectly ridged little slope, never failing, never succumbing to the air around him…those quiet, childish eyes silent, crying inside…_Fayt. _Cliff had only known the kid for less than a day, yet there was something different to him than every other person he'd rescued, even met.

Cliff banged his head against the door abruptly, not sure what to do next. For a moment, he wished he had his radios with him, to perhaps call Nel or Clair or even Lieber for help (he would never consider Peppita, Roger or Adray- too much trouble). But deep down, he knew the reality of his situation because he'd seen it all before, he knew what was happing. Trouble was, he was going to have to think of a way to get up there…the light bulb in Cliff's brain began to feel the strain, flickering, quickly…

Then the bulb went bright. "Oh yeah!" Cliff scoffed to himself, "I forgot about that!"

Cliff ran away from the door, bumping into almost everything in sight as he charged through the corridor. He was briefly reminded of those veracious flames blazing through that Leingod house…dancing around him as he paced himself from room to room, the grey walls reminding him of the sharp, dull, smoky smell. He reached a room across near Fayt's and entered, walking past a sleeping granny, tiptoeing himself around the bed as she snored heavily, sliding upon the window door carefully. He leapt behind the frame, and he spotted a rusted, jet black ladder which crept up the side of the building. Cliff swung onto it, gripping the bars with his musky, sweaty hands, and he lifted his left leg, kicking the window back down shut noisily.

The windows clamped back shut, and listening intently to his surroundings, his hunch was confirmed- Fayt _was_ outside, somewhere…a kestrel winged itself from around the corner, darting past Cliffs face, its sun kissed wings flashing past and tickling his face. Cliff sneezed, letting go of one of the bars instinctively, covering his pink nose and turning away from the gritty walls and towards the town lights. The bottom of his eyes shimmered down- _one heck of a fall._

Cliff shivered, swung back to the rotting metal, looking dumbfounded as he glared up to the roof, some couple of metres away…

----

**Go get 'em Cliff, you stud! To be continued, folks...**

**Zel's Notas: **Muhaha! I'm such a slow updater! And a flippin' tease (I was tempted to make put more hinty shonen-ai, buuut then I thought "I'll be slow!") Ah well, I had to think long on hard about how to confound you readers even more before I updated. There are more little riddles and puzzles in this update for y'all to sink your teeth in, so happy solving! (Okay, I just sounded like my old Math teacher…)

I want to cuddle Fayt right now, even if he is being very OOC in this chapter. He actually makes me want to squeal XD And Cliff, you stud! You mother hen! That's all I can describe you like right now, my man, you are just amazing! The inspiration for the bandages came from the help of two people I know, and it just fitted Cliff for some reason. Doctor/Nurse Cliff!

I'm going to explain one thing for you all here:

(1)- First off, Fayt does brush his teeth, okay:D Well, what did I mean with this? Okay. If you know anything about Tai'chi, Chinese Mythology or Feng Shui, you'll know that the literal meanings of "chi" are "breath of life", or "breath of the dragon". As well as thinking of the adjective "dragon" in an aggressive way ("dragon" can connote fierceness and brutality- this can be used to reflect that "mirror Fayt" at the moment, that Cliff hasn't quite caught onto yet!) I was also meant to use it as a sense of life- therefore, Cliff feels renewed, or cleansed, through Fayt's appearance in his life (hinty-hintyness: Cliff is falling for him, 'cause he can't stop thinking of him:D)

And my new (and final, I promise) original character, Zeral, takes his place in the story. What's he like? Think the Manga version of Cliff, but a bit more conspicuous, feminine and…okay, I'm sure you get the picture. I figure he's the kind of character who would create his own story for himself, if the author would just give him the ruddy pen! He seems to create himself as I type along, and he's just that smooth and easy to write about. Baddie or goodie? Or neutralie? Or has he got nothing to do with the story at all? Demos played only minor parts, but he seems to like teasing Vox and aggravating Kyoko…quite a bit actually, especially with his references to Sophia constantly. Ugly as he is, I'm starting to like Demos too…when I write him, anyway

Don't ask about Tynave. She's definitely OOC, and I'm aware of it :). But Farleen as a baddie just didn't fit with me.

Anyways, I'm going off back under the hole. And as I said folks, happy solving!


End file.
